Fragments (A Kirby 100-Theme Challenge)
by MissMissive
Summary: My collection of gijinka drabbles, one-shots, and the like for the Kirby fandom from the 100-Theme Challenge! Open to requests!
1. Failure

**A/N: Hello, lovely people! A close friend of mine just moved very far away, and since we're both avid writers, we've decided to keep up a running correspondence of drabbles, short stories, and the like of our chosen fandoms using the infamous Hundred-Theme Challenge list! What you are about to read is my gijinka undertaking of The Challenge, using both the famous list and also the "Emotion" 100-theme list. These will probably center around Marx, Magolor, and Taranza (my three favorites!), but will include other characters as well, especially by the suggestion of my wonderful readers! *Wink wink* They will be done in any order that suits my fancy, unless you guys have a prompt or scenario you really want to see (which you can give to be via PM!), and they will, of course, vary in length depending on how motivated I feel at the time. Enjoy! :)**

**Both 100-Theme Challenge lists and the Kirby franchise belong to their respective owners, of course. :)**

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><p><strong>23: Failure<strong>

**Characters: Taranza**

**Genre: Tragedy**

The twilight was soft, the gentle breeze holding the sweet tang of rain to come. Insects lulled any passing creature with a lazy, lilted tune, and for a brief moment before the pale sun disappeared over the horizon, dew-covered leaves and wisps of spider web all turned a brilliant orange, as if they were made of liquid fire. Then, as the sun completed its transit across the daytime sky, the light disappeared with it like a bridal train. This was all that was left of an empire once so great that it spanned a galaxy.

A lone figure padded through the ruins, a wavering torch in one hand while the other five remained limp at his sides. His cloudy eyes were dull with the knowledge of utter defeat, the telltale signs of war blatant on his battered and bruised body. He turned a slow circle, watching the webs that got caught in the torch's fiery fingers fizzle to embers and then to ash in a span of less than a second. A sardonic smile ripped across his face. _That was life, wasn't it? We would light and burn in a beautiful display, but in the end, it's all the same: there is nothing left._

He didn't know whether to laugh or to cry, to mourn his fallen Queen for the good she had done or to celebrate the demise of his tormentor. Nothing felt natural to him anymore; the world was strange to him—detached. Was he himself truly alive, or just some husk left behind by a bold transformation? Did he still have the power to turn his life into something beautiful, or was he doomed to die a twisted failure?

Was redemption truly just wistful dream of the lost and the broken?


	2. Opportunities

**10. Opportunities**

**Characters: Bandana Dee, Meta Knight**

**Genre: Um...Crime? Spying is high treason...**

**Summary: When you're an underling of a fat, lazy king, sweeping floors and doing dishes aren't the only things you're good at.**

Bandana never made a habit of saying too much. Part of it was because he was unfortunately employed to King Dedede, but it was mostly because of what you could learn if you were quiet. Someone whom others never expected to speak faded into the background, free to probe and investigate without suspicious eyes following. Once or twice, in the improbable circumstance that he was caught doing what he wasn't supposed to be, he would just wave his arms in a faked futile gesture to explain himself, and force a startled look of utmost importance on his face. Therefore, he went unhampered by the confused people on the other side of the language barrier.

This gave him many, many opportunities that the castle's more prestigious residents couldn't exploit: he was able to spy, steal food from the kitchens, and know the goings-on in Castle Dedede before anybody else. Even now, doing the most simplistic of chores in the castle, he was planning. With each stroke of the push-broom, the well of information in his mind only deepened. Perhaps this made him a little creepy, but working as a servant in a huge castle, what else was one going to do? Right on time, armored footsteps signaled the arrival of one of his allies.

Impassionate golden eyes stared at him from behind Meta Knight's mask. As all servants are taught, Bandana pretends not to notice, intent on his work. "You there." When he was addressed, he looked up. He forgot to fake a small flinch and a look of fear in his eyes; most of the other servants feared the knight-errant. Bandana doubted the others were perceptive enough to notice. "You are needed in the courtyard. Come with me." Meta Knight's blunt command was cryptic enough to pass in the minds of Bandana's coworkers—thank the stars that Meta Knight was never very direct—while not vague enough to rouse suspicions. Bandana bowed- the castle custom—and Meta Knight turned on his heel and made his way down the hallway amidst the servants, leaving Bandana to scurry behind his long stride.

It was a while before they were out of earshot, and Meta Knight took many turns to make sure they weren't being followed. Bandana noticed that he slowed for a moment before he stopped, since last week he had stopped so abruptly that Bandana accidentally ran into him. "Well?" The knight's voice was no longer hard and cold, but held respect and a flicker of warmth towards him. It was only because of his value spying in the castle that he was not working on the Halberd with his brother Sailor Dee; Meta Knight had been very kind to take them under his care, though they both understood that in the presence of the castle it had to be clandestine. Bandana much preferred working for the masked knight than his obese, bossy king anyways.

"There's going to be a new shipment of monsters Tuesday, and then the rest on Wednesday. They didn't say anything beyond that, probably because we'll be too busy rebuilding." Bandana said. The monsters Dedede ordered from NME Enterprises didn't have a great track record with the infrastructure of the castle. Personally, Bandana was of the opinion that the King should spend less money on the monsters and more on insurance. "Nothing about the nature of the monsters?" Meta Knight questioned. Bandana shook his head. "Thank you, Bandana. Your brother told me to tell you that everything is fine." Bandana smiled at that; news from Sailor, however small, was a blessing to hear. Meta Knight pressed a small pouch of coins in Bandana's hands. The first time, Bandana had protested, but now he knew that the knight did not like to be refused for politeness. He pocketed the money gratefully, knowing that Meta Knight had taken care that it would get him through the week. "Thank you, Sir." He said. Meta Knight inclined his head in acknowledgement, slipping away just as a group of servants rounded the corner. Bandana fell in behind them, made his eyes and expression blank like theirs. To anyone else, the only thing that discerned him from them was the blue bandana he wore. A typical, deadly mistake.


	3. Troubling Thoughts

**A/N: I just wanted to give a quick but MASSIVE thank you to everybody that has read, reviewed, followed, and/or favorited this story! You guys are the best, and it makes me so happy to know that you enjoy these stories! Like I said before, I am more than happy to tackle any requests anybody wants to give me; PM me- I don't bite! :) And without further ado, here's a Marx-centered drabble. ^-^**

**51: Troubling Thoughts**

** Characters: Marx**

**Genre: Horror, Angst**

**Warning: This is dark. What else was I going to do with 'Troubling Thoughts'? **

It had to be done. One more life taken, and he would finally be free of this hell. Marx shuddered in anticipation, his breaths short and ragged like an animal, fingers twitching with the excitement of being able to fit them around her throat, to watch that innocent fade from her eyes. He hoped she would scream. He hoped she would cry and plead, making gasping appeals to a better side of him that simply wasn't there. But what if she didn't? He frowned, considering the possibility. No; he had his ways. It had to be done.


	4. Running Away

**A/N: So, obviously this won't be a daily update; I'm really sorry about that! I want to make these as good as I can, and with so many plot bunnies and so little time, I'm finding it difficult not to expand and edit for hours that I frankly don't have. But be patient and leave reviews, my lovelies; I promise I haven't forgotten you! :)**

**13: Running Away**

** Genre: Friendship, Angst**

**Characters: Marx, Magolor**

**Summary: Nobody ever thinks that there might be another side to things, but the reality is that there is never truly a plain black and white. Bad guys can be good, too, and not everything is as perfect as it seems.**

Marx was still awake come the early morning when he saw the torches burning in the distance. _They were coming for them._ He watched then for a second, a low growl rising in his throat, before getting up—too tall to fully stand in the cave—and slinking to the back of the cave where the other teenager was sleeping.

"Magolor!" Marx hissed, "Get up!" One cone-shaped ear flicked under the Halcandran's hood, and Magolor rolled over, stifling a yawn. "…Mmrf, five more minutes…" He mumbled. Marx's response was to grab a fistful of the wizard's shirt and haul him to his feet, earning a squeak of surprise from the fugitive. "In five more minutes we'll be dead; come on!" He growled, already stalking outside the cave.

This comment seemed to wake Magolor up very quickly, and the wizard adjusted his hood—which had been knocked lopsided while he slept—as he followed the jester outside. "What is it?" He asked, wide eyed. Wordlessly, Marx pointed to the mob coming over the hills towards them. At Magolor's confused look, the jester bit back an annoyed sigh and explained.

"They're coming to kill us—or drive us out, whichever I suppose they deem better for society. They don't have actual weapons, because great Nova _forbid _they actually have to _hurt_ anything. It goes completely against their nature! So instead of hacking us to bits or shooting us quickly, they're probably going to run us through with a pitchfork or throw stuff at us and then jeer at us while we bleed out." Marx explained darkly, a look of pure hatred coming across his face.

"O-oh." Magolor couldn't stop a shiver of fear from running through him, and averted his eyes from the people and their crude weapons marching steadily towards them. "Maybe…Maybe we could just talk to them? Agree to leave, or something?"

The harsh laugh that came from Marx nearly scared him more than the prospect of being caught by the mob did. "Then you would be walking right to your death. These people talk about how great they are, what a peaceful and wonderful country they have, but if you mess up there is no second chance. They think they're so innocent and _perfect_...Everyone is a monster in their own right, Magolor. It just depends on how much you let it show. And the people who don't realize it may well be the worst of all of us." Marx said, watching the mob coming towards them with an angry hunger.

"Then let's get out of here." Magolor said, wringing his hands nervously. He never knew that this is how he would end up, stranded and being hunted down on a completely different planet, let alone a completely different dimension. Marx looked back at him, his face like stone. "That's what I was thinking." He said, but as Magolor turned to steal down the mountainside, Marx's hand shot out to stop him. "Go find a ship. I don't care what kind it is or where you find it, so long as it flies. I'll…try to distract them or something." He said. Magolor was reluctant to leave the only person he could ever truly call a friend, but seeing Marx standing tall and fearless on the mountaintop, his face a cold mask of fury as he accepted his face, spurred the flighty alien into action.

Only later, when he returned in the Lor to make their getaway, did he see Marx's mangled body twisted on the rocks and realize that his friend had never intended to make it out alive.


	5. Acceptance

**A/N: For my sake, can we all pretend that space works like this? :P I'm aware that space is a vacuum, but if you think about it, the latter half of Halfmoon in KSSU is just space. **

**I'd like to apologize quickly for not updating in a long time. I could bore you by spewing out petty details, but I have a lot (*ahem* school) going on right now, and I'm not able to write as much as you or I would like. But fear not, I have not given up on this! :D As always, feel free to PM me any requests! **

**95: Acceptance**

** Characters: Marx, Kirby**

**Genre: Tragedy, Angst**

**Summary: Being left to die in space gives one a lot of time to reflect...**

Marx never got along with the other Dreamlanders. The tranquil denizens frowned upon the brash jester's belligerent pranks, and Marx reviled the Dreamlanders' impudent naiveté. Anything that disturbed the Dreamlanders' little bubble of peace and security was taboo to them, but Marx, who had been to planets far and wide, knew such a place did not exist in the first place. He took it upon himself to show the Dreamlanders that their safe haven was only a fragile illusion, and found a twisted sort of pleasure in setting buildings alight, breaking into homes, and getting into other such mischief just to watch the citizens panic.

But, try as they might, neither the police nor soldiers sent from by the King himself could ever catch Marx. The jester stayed one step ahead of everybody, laughing all the while. He was determined to be the tormentor of Dreamland for the rest of his life—if not for one certain wildcard the villagers still had up their sleeves. Marx had heard bits and pieces about this famed Warrior Hero of Dreamland, enough to know that he had taken on ne'er-do-wells and monstrous beasts all across the galaxy and never suffered a defeat. He was ready to adjust his plans to combat this new threat; he was not the Prince of Mischief without reason!

When he first saw the famed Kirby of the Stars, he thought that the villagers had turned the tables and pulled one over on _him_. Where they kidding?! This was an infant! A tiny, squishy pink marshmallow that couldn't even speak! Well, if that was the way they wanted to play, Marx would concoct his greatest scheme yet—a massive prank of planetary proportions that would have those foolish Dreamlanders hiding under their beds for a week!

It didn't even cross his mind that maybe—_just maybe_—those ludicrous stories were true, and he paid the price. He got overzealous, and in a matter of minutes, Kirby left him battered, beaten, humiliated, and all but dead. Floating helplessly in space, the agony coursing through his veins eliciting pained gasps inaudible in the utterly empty deep, Marx watched the gilded debris that was once the Galactic Nova spin towards him in slow motion. Through hazy eyes he followed the orbit of the wreckage until it was so close he could reach out and touch it. _Sucky way to end. I always thought I'd die somewhere warmer, with a nice breeze…_ And it was when this thought crossed his mind that Marx realized that he had given up all hope of living—he was dying, and there was nothing he could do about it, bleeding out here in space. He let out a shaky breath, trying not to think too much about Oblivion; he certainly had not been a nice person.

Just when darkness threatened to swallow his vision for eternity, a silver starship roared out of a rip in space.


	6. Forgotten

**A/N: This is definitely one of the harder ficlets I've written, because I'm thinking from the perspective of a person so far gone into insanity that they're on the verge of being completely nonsensical. I tried to keep it as logical as I could, but keep in mind that there are a lot of subtle references. :P**

**_Poor GK; who knows how long he's been stuck in that crystal?_**** :/ I don't know about you, but I think that'd seriously suck.**

**35. Forgotten**

** Characters: Galacta Knight, Meta Knight**

**Genre: Angst, Tragedy**

**Summary: Eternity is all Galacta has ever known, and it still is not enough. **

_Shattered. _It's burning, burning, burning, and everything fades away. Reality has shattered, the pieces digging into my flesh, piercing my very soul. My crystalline prison. My beautiful hell. Faces taunt me in the shadows of my mind, laughing as I grasp for them—for memories that are no longer there. I feel like I knew them—should know them—but they cannot be, for nothing exists inside this perilous limbo, this grey area between vigorous life and monotonous death.

_Life_. I threw mine away. I was sent here to reflect, but instead I forgot, the eternity eating away at my mind although it was barred from my body. All I can do is stare out at the vastness of empty space, the infinite universe taunting me, the twinkling stars shining bright in the face of my wretched half-existence. It was for them that I named myself: Galacta. They are all that I want to be: lively, free, and full of life. And they are all that I am not, all that I will never be. _I brought this on myself. _What I did has long since faded from my recollections, but my punishment is a constant reminder. I must have been scum.

_What is wind? _Why do I long to feel it on my feathers? Breathing, too, comes to mind, but the word sounds foreign—nonsensical. There is nothing. Nothing but empty space, nothing but earsplitting silence. Nothing but eternity. But…There was a man. A man with wings the color of night, with a visage of steel and eyes that smoldered like liquid gold. He had a piece of metal, too—a jagged, flat weapon that stirred something in the emptiness of my mind. _A sword_. And for a brief instant, everything was chaos.

_Everything was chaos. _A warm, metallic smell awakened something animalistic deep within me, something that threatened to tear me to pieces from the inside out. My prison—my universe—released me, and with a horrible lump of dread in my gut, I realized I knew _nothing_ about this world I had watched forever. What I had come to be familiar with had shed me like a cloak, and I suddenly reviled this liberty I had longed for. I did the only thing I knew how: I retreated deep inside myself and let the monster take over.

_Speech—another thing I had forgotten. _The man challenged me in a language I did not recognize. I tried to answer him, but all that came out was a guttural, anguished yell. Everything happened so fast. I was surviving on some long-dormant instinct that I did not know existed, and my blood pounded in my ears. This man had made a mistake, for one way or another, I would achieve life or death. Even if it was agony to live, it was a change, and I refused to return to limbo.

The last thing I remember is the voice of the man praying for my soul before he drove his sword between my eyes.


End file.
